Hashtag: Red Head Problems
by caffinate-me
Summary: He found himself standing on the stage in his favorite suit and her favorite shirt— the purple one, having bids thrown out at a pace slightly faster than he had expected and she was nowhere to be seen. One-shot. Complete.


Hashtag: Red Head Problems (aka The Lady with Crimson Hair)

He tore his gaze away from the crowd, pleading eyes searching the crowd for her.

Sweat started to bead at his hairline. His still perfect hairline, if he may say so himself. That was one thing he had always been grateful for. He may not have known much of his grandparents but he had known his grandfather had had an incredible head of hair. Not that it was important now.

They hadn't talked since he had thrown that, in his mind, still perfectly appropriate hissy fit and stormed out of the precinct two days before and he had told her not to bother coming tonight but that didn't mean he didn't still want her here.

Wow… he really was the woman in this relationship.

He shook his head again, forcing himself out of his mind and pasting a smile onto his face. He hated these things.

He'd had a plan: they would come in together, mingle for a little while and then, when the auction started, he would slip her his checkbook and she would outbid any other person there, no matter how high the price. Because at the end of the day he didn't want to have dinner, go dancing or go home with anyone other than her.

It had been fool proof but now she was nowhere to be seen and the dollar amount was getting higher. Not that he wasn't flattered he was, but there had been a plan. The only reason he had agreed to participate in this twisted version of a misandristic meat market was because he knew that in the end she would swoop in and win. Fool proof except for the part where he had blown up at her for no good reason, and told her not to come.

So, now he found himself standing on the stage in his favorite suit and her favorite shirt— the purple one, having bids thrown out at a pace slightly faster than he had expected, he's a couple of years beyond his prime after all. The sweat was beginning to bead on the back of his neck because the woman in the front row, number… 37… was eyeing him like a prize cow at the county fair and the red head in the back row was nearly seething at the Asian woman beside her offering her what looked like bribes to stay quiet. He shuddered involuntarily. Not another red head… He could already see the Twitter hashtag on the 140-character post describing the evening: #RedHeadProblems.

Castle was jolted back into the moment by the sound of the auctioneer's yells. "Going once… going twice… sold! To the lady in the back for $5,250. Thank you Mr. Castle…"

His eyes roamed the crowd, his heart sinking as he caught a glimpse of the head of crimson hair as it turned toward the table in the back to pay.

* * *

Two Days Before

"What if… we were all just figments of a goldfish's imagination or we are the ones living in a tank and they are all watching us but we're too small to see them…"

Beckett's hand clutched her pen a little bit firmer, the ballpoint tip pressing into the paper a fraction harder as his words continued on, some breaking their way into her thought.

"… And then my mother…."

She loved him, she really did, and on a stressful day she sometimes found his musings and theories reassuring.

"… Paula thinks it would be good publicity…"

But today of all days when Gates was breathing down her neck and she had a stack of paperwork a mile high to complete— paperwork that he had in no way volunteered to help with by the way.

"…It _is_ for a good cause…"

Instead he was prattling on about fish philosophy charity auctions and if she wasn't careful Ryan would come over and join in and then Javi would start berating them for being so idiotic and she really would break the pen which was now in a vice grip in her fist.

"So, what do you say?"

Kate's head snapped back around from where she had been zoning out in front of her computer, attempting to reel in her thoughts. "What?"

"The charity event Friday night for the children's hospital. You'll be there, right?"

Her eyes flickered up, barely registering the flash of panic in his.

She shrugged, "Yeah, sure. We have no active cases and I don't have plans for Friday so I can come."

Castle deflated back into the chair, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief, causing her to narrow her eyes warily at him. "What's with you, Castle? You look like I just signed your reprieve from being hanged."

He froze, his finger hovering over his phone and she shifted uncomfortably under his shocked gaze. Had she missed something?

"Did you not hear anything that I just said, Beckett? I swear, sometimes you never listen to me."

"Castle, I…"

"Would it kill you to just once listen to my problems?"

Kate's mouth dropped open in shock, her voice a harsh squeaking whisper as she attempted to keep Gates from hearing their argument. "Are you serious? I listen to your problems _all the time_. Every time you came to a crime scene complaining about your mother or seeking advice about Alexis…"

"Oh, so now you're going to bring my daughter into this, have you no shame?"

"I wasn't bringing your daughter into anything, I was just saying that…"

"Yeah," Castle interjected. "I know what you were 'just saying'."

He let out a huff of indignation as he pushed himself out of his chair. "I'm going to head home. I have things to do. Not that you would care to hear about any of them."

Kate sighed, rubbing a hand against the hard, seemingly permanent crease in her brow. This day just kept getting better and better. "I'll call you tonight when I get home?"

Castle's shoulders drooped. "No, actually don't bother. And you know what, don't worry about Friday either. I'll call you this weekend."

"Castle… I didn't…"

She watched, helpless as he moped towards the elevator, shoulders hunched.

What did she do?

* * *

Beckett paced her apartment for the second time in as many hours, her phone clutched in her fist. She wasn't going to call him. She wasn't. She hadn't done anything wrong. He had been prattling on about fish, what did he expect that she would be listening intently to every single word he said _while_ she was trying to do paperwork and immediately catch on to the change in topic?

She let out a sigh, her finger dancing over the call button. No. _No._ She wasn't going to do it; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

She plopped down onto the sofa with a huff. He was going to have to come to her.

Her foot, propped on the coffee table, rocked from side to side as she stared off into space, phone still clasped in hand. Her other fingers wound their way through a lock of hair absentmindedly, teeth worrying her lower lip.

Another pained groan escaped as the battle of internal dialogue continued in her head. She wasn't going to call. She wasn't.

Her thumb swiped over the touch pad, pounding the call button until the screen announced that it was dialing.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Martha eyed her son's sunken expression: the protrusion of his lower lip, the way he was stabbing his spoon into the oversized ice cream sundae over and over, not a bite missing.

She let out a sigh as she shed her coat, placing it and her purse in the hall closet before drifting further into the room, her eclectic collection of necklaces and bangles dancing with her motion, the sound combining with the click of her heels to form an impromptu theme song.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

His lip stuck out a fraction of an inch further as his head sank down onto one palm. "No."

Martha moved to the counter, her hands working automatically— reaching for the cabinet, pulling out a wine glass and pouring a glass of the cabernet that had been breathing on the counter.

"There are only two people in this world that can make you pout like that, one is on a ski trip with her friends and the other you were spending the day with. So, I can only assume this pity party has to do with the latter."

"She doesn't listen to me!"

Martha startled slightly before bringing the glass of wine to her lips with a half roll of her eyes. She was going to need liquid backup for this conversation. "Darling, I'm sure that's not true. And quite frankly with the number of words that come out of your mouth on a daily basis, how much she does listen is a testament to how much she loves you."

Castle huffed again. "I'm not that bad."

Martha sucked in another deep breath, forcing her eyes to not do another round. "Richard, dear, do us all a favor; call her."

She was halfway up the stairs when her phone started to vibrate in her hand. Glancing down at the screen, she threw back another gulp of wine before gathering the courage to bring the phone up to her ear.

"Hello dear, we were just talking about you…"

* * *

He wandered through the crowd as nonchalantly as possible, throwing waves and smiles at patrons across the room as he went. He picked a glass of champagne off a tray as he neared the table, sipping it as saddled up to it.

_Cool._ He chanted to himself. _Look cool. Calm. Collected. The three 'C's. You can do this. You're Richard Castle, charmer of women. _

"Annabel!" He exclaimed as he turned to see the young woman seated on the other side. This was good; Annabel was Alexis' age. The girls had practically grown up together. Annabel's parents were both doctors, surgeons, at the children's hospital the auction was benefiting. He would definitely be able to get information out of her. "It is so nice to see you. Alexis was actually asking about you the other day."

"Hello Mr. Castle," The young woman replied, a light blush tinting her cheeks. "I'm doing well. Pre-med at Harvard, I'm just back in town for the weekend. How are you?"

"Great, actually!" Castle forced a wide smile onto his face, wiggling his eyebrows slightly as he leaned down closer to the girl. "I just didn't happen to get a good look at the woman who 'won' me, I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about her."

Annabel glanced around before scooting an inch closer. "Well, I'm not supposed to but for you Mr. Castle, I'll make an exception."

The girl paused to riffle through a stack of papers before pulling one out with a triumphant grin. "Here we go, Mr. Richard Castle, purchased for $5,250. Huh, interesting…"

Annabel raised an eyebrow. "Paid for in cash by one Ms. Lola Black."

Lola Black… he'd heard that name somewhere before, but where?

He swallowed, stuttering slightly before asking his next question. "Did she happen to have red hair?"

A small teasing smile flickered over Annabel's face. "Yes, Sir. It seems you have a type."

Castle let out a self-deprecating moan. Kate was going to kill him. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

She was standing in the corner, halfway hidden behind a fake ficus. The red wig clashed slightly with the dark purple dress she had donned, which matched his shirt perfectly, not that he had noticed yet. He was still in panic mode.

It was mean, she knew, and she had been hesitant to do it. She knew how scarred he was when it came to red hair, no matter how much he loved his mother and daughter, but Martha had thought it a marvelous idea and she was powerless against the indomitable Ms. Rogers.

He was still talking to the girl at the table, his eyes getting wider and wider by the minute. Her stomach clenched. She really should go put him out of his misery but this was a little bit too much fun.

The girl was waving a hand now in her direction. Kate ducked back behind the tree, the champagne glass clutched in her fist. He was looking almost directly at her, his eyes searching the crowd.

She knew the minute he spotted her, the deep fortifying breath when he caught sight of the shock of bright red hair, the gulp as his gaze trailed down the v of her neckline. She rolled her eyes. _Men._ But she held her focus tightly on his face, waiting for the moment when he really looked at her.

The rest of the room fell away the moment their eyes met, his half shocked, half panicked expression melting into a wide smile.

"You're here."

He had skittered across the room in a manner of seconds, his large hands bracketing her waist, pulling her body into his, arms wrapping around her torso.

"Yeah, I'm here you big lug."

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Kate chuckled in his ear, wrapping a hand around his neck as she relished the feeling of her body pressed into his. Two days was utterly too long. "I'm happy to see you too. You didn't think I'd actually let another woman win a date with you, did you?"

"But how did you…?"

"Your mother helped."

He sighed into her, his head shaking against hers. "Of course she did, this has Martha Rogers written all over it."

"Actually the wig was my idea."

He pulled back suddenly to look down at her, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. "But I'm…"

"Scarred for life by red headed women? Oh, I know," Kate took a step back, out of his embrace, lifting the Champagne flute to her lips with an impish grin. "And you say I don't listen."

"You…" Castle stuttered. "You did this to get back at me?"

Kate took another step back, turning her back to him slowly as she sauntered through the crowd toward the dance floor with an extra swing of her hips. "You coming Castle?"

"I, um, yep," he replied as he hurried to catch up to her.

"Wait…" he froze again in the middle of the dance floor, her body pulled up against him. "It was $5,000, how did you pay for that?"

"Oh, I swiped your debit card earlier also."

"You had your hand in my pocket _again_ and I _still_ didn't feel it? Scandalous."

"Some would say it's shocking."

"Sensual."

"Downright salacious."

"You ready to get out of here?"

"Yup."

"You going to lose the wig?"

"Actually, I was thinking about keeping it on for a little bit longer, after all you do have _a_ _type_."

* * *

A/N: This idea actually stemmed from a rewatch of "Home is Where the Heart Stops". Happy birthday to Kate Christie, I hope you enjoyed this completely pointless, slightly inane piece of fluff fiction. :)


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